


Geralt x Reader - Tension

by EveningCrow



Category: The Witcher, Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Drinking, F/M, Inspired by The Witcher, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 15:34:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29352777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EveningCrow/pseuds/EveningCrow
Summary: Second Person POV (you said...)You kill a monster for the town, Geralt isn't best impressed.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Original Female Character(s), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Reader
Kudos: 24





	Geralt x Reader - Tension

A satisfying rasping breath fell through those sharp daggers for teeth, the straggling hairs beneath its draconic head matted and slathered with blood.

There's always something unsettling about watching the life vanish in the eyes, whether that's man or beast.

You take a deep breath and steady your racing heart, adrenaline coursed through your veins, limbs aching to keep moving, stay alive, long after the threat has died. You wipe the sword on a filthy cloth stuffed at the bottom of the scabbard and sheath the weapon, hearing only your own breath and that of the wind.

You procured a dagger from your thigh and began the part that churns your stomach, once all is said and done, a trophy has to be collected. You settle for the horns, they'd be useful to someone and proof enough of its death. A few scales come off its head, sticking to the edges of those black ridged horns.

Tiredness waved over your body as you trudged back to town, the hill was an easy southern slope, and you found the dirt tracks with ease and wandered until the wooden walls were in sight.

You beeline for the alderman, who claimed he’d be within the tavern. It was nothing short of expectations; men lined wooden benches and drank with their usual humming monotone voices making the atmosphere heavy. Candles were lit high up the wooden beams that dotted the tavern and alongside the walls.

"It was a Wyvern, Sir" you say dutifully as you stand at his table. His blue eyes flash up at you, eyeing your face fresh from the battle. Blood was somewhere on your face, as well as mud after you were bashed to the ground by its mighty wing. You place the horns in front of him, all four of them filled the wooden table and the eyes of the alderman widened.

"A Royal one. I didn't expect it to be." He nodded at you and took out a leather pouch, and a significantly smaller fustian fabric purse with a string tie, he transferred some extra gold into the purse before sliding it towards you. You grope the bag, nod and head to the bar.

The innkeeper scowled and handed you a wooden cup of ale, the others had leather. You flick him a coin, he doesn't catch it and it falls to his feet. Your eyes shine in amusement, his do not as he returns to the hooded stranger across the bar.

"The alderman has already paid her, bugger off," the innkeeper’s voice was tired and angered, yet he was straining to remain quiet and out of earshot of the alderman, who he kept looking at with a hint of fear.

You eye the man he talks to, his black hood looked new, it hung over his face and you could barely see eyes beneath it. You sip at your ale and scowl at it, watered down, you take a gulp from it and tut loudly. The stranger glides from the bar to you, placing his tankard next to yours, both wooden.

"You slew my monster." His gruff voice reverberated against your ear, rumbled from the back of his throat and down his chest. It made your ear tingle, and run with blood. You smirked "Didn't see your name on the contract," you sip your ale again.

He growls deeply, and throws the remnants of his drink down his gullet. He tips his two last coins from his pouch and makes to move, stepping behind you. Languidly you throw your purse on the countertop, he stops, "I'll buy your next." You say. He hesitates and grumbles before returning to your side.

"Find a table; I need to rest my back." You order, and motion to the innkeeper to fill your tankards and leave a coin on the bar.

You turn and follow the broad cloaked man; he takes for the darker corner, the candle above it unlit.

You both settle and take it in turns to eye one another. Your gaze is direct; his hood remains up but has fallen back enough to reveal a deep healed scar across his pale skin, mud filling his every pore. His eyes looked almost human, just a hint of...gold. You question your sight, squinting he looks at you.

Otherworldly, you summarise. It was like looking into the eyes of a predator, almost a monster yet there was a morality, a soul behind steely eyes.

Some people loudly left the tavern, the night had drawn in, the blue dusk faded and it was a dark night. The diamond shaped lead window beside you both provided no light but accentuated the deep darkness that nestled in this corner of the tavern, a step away from the continuous deep buzz.

The tankards arrived, placed on the table roughly.

You dunk a muddy finger in, this one was cold. You sipped and it wasn't watered down.

You say your name to the stranger and flash him your pointed ear, hidden behind a thick leather band that wrapped around your head, he eyes you again. Looking over your neutral expression before replying, "Geralt, Witcher."

You hum and laugh to yourself lightly.

"That's why you're so annoyed. Could tell you weren't quite human," your eyes flash to his, he scowls.

"It seems I did your job for you. I'm sure there's another for you. I heard that some of the local men have been _possessed_ ," you emphasise the word sarcastically, "waking up in beds next to other women. Pleading a devil took them over." You laugh and drink.

He pushes his hood back and silently drinks.

"I'm willing to exchange some coins for your services, Witcher, as I can see you're rather...short," your tone becomes deeper, slipping almost into a whisper. Your eyes lock with the Witcher, neither of you looking away.

"I'm not a whore." He grunts angrily.

You exhale, "Still got some human in you then Witcher. I meant your medical expertise, if you have any besides your deadly potions. "

He looks you up and down; your expression softens a little, loosening the furrowed brows above your eyes and lifting them expectantly. You gently lift your arm, revealing the glimpse of a bloodied tunic beneath your armour.

"I have some herbs."

"Good" you say with a chirped finality, you stand and down the tankard in two large gulps.

...

He follows behind you quietly, his leather boots padded gently across the wooden steps above the tavern and you made your way through the small corridor, barely lit by the half burnt candle you were handed by the innkeeper. Miserable bastard...

You locate the room furthest from the others’; it was towards the back of the property. You opened the door to an unsavoury pungent stench of stale ale that had turned into mould on the floors. The bed was one small sheepskin laid over hay on the floor and the rest of the room was bare, minus a bucket of water and a chamber pot.

The inelegance of this bounced off you, you strolled in boldly and unstrapped the leather belts that held your weaponry to you. The Witcher followed you in, hesitating before doing the same.

"There's no bed," He quietly remarks, placing his swords in the corner. The shine of them flickered against the single flame.

"Usually isn't." You reply exhaling, untying the knots beneath your layered leather armour.

He produced a short hum before taking off his armour efficiently while your hands struggled with a particularly tight knot.

You saw the extent of the damage, a dark patch of red skirted the edge of where your breast plate had been. It stung once the pressure of the armour was gone. You sighed and walked past the Witcher, leaving the room in your linen tunic and loose trousers, bootless. You return with a broken wooden box from the end of the hallway, it was empty aside from the broken plank. You place it beside the bucket and put the candle atop.

You slip to the ground, legs curled to the side and immediately you dunk your hands into the cold water and wash your face, "Fuck" you hiss beneath your breath.

You hear a light chuckle and the Witcher kneels beside you, clutching a leather bag.

You wipe your face on the small cloth slung over to the rim of the bucket.

His knee is flush against your leg, he looks at the stain on your shirt, and you hoped it wasn’t as close to your chest but fate had other plans.

"If you lay down this would be easier," He stiffly said, “I’ll bring the bucket to you."

You move to the hay and sheepskin "bed" and lay on your back, an unusual nervousness spread through you. At first, you tensed your chest as it sent a spasm up to the throat and down to your stomach. Then you couldn't look the Witcher in his eyes, but you knew he could sense your apprehension.

He sat beside you and gently lifts your roughly spun tunic, careful to not brush your skin. He reveals a gash, deep enough it made his face scrunch, you don’t look at it.

"I've had worse," you spit out, unable to bear being stared at. He drops your shirt and opens his bag, flipping it with ease and rummages. He returns the tunic above the cut and asks you raise your arm; you place it behind your head and turn away. Wet cloth burnt like prickling fires and you hiss through clenched teeth.

The rough material of your shirt falls again, grating against the wound. You lift yourself up enough to take it off completely.

The Witcher was silent as he attended to you.

"I didn't even notice. I felt it happen, I think." Your eyes look at anything but him as he wrings the cloth in the bucket. You can feel the cold of the room, the softness of his touch bring rise to small goose bumps from your arm down to the stomach, inwardly grimacing at your exposed flesh.

“Sit up and I'll bind you," He gently commands. You oblige, lift your elbows to the front so he can wrap cloth around your chest. The base of his thumb brushed over your breast, between a layer of cloth you could see your erect nipple, his face was unbearably close to yours. You could hear his breath, not as calm as it was before, it was warm and heavy as he bobbed in front of your face and back to your side. He pauses at your front, slowly tying a knot to tuck beneath the bandage, his white hair escaped the small tie at the back, rising up like a mountain from his head, your breath hitched, moving your raised hands you gently tug the hair back through the knot and the bump flattens out.

You move to scoop more of his hair from his face but a wrist whacks your hand away, in the same movement he retreated from you and intently stared at you, eyes full of...you couldn't guess.

He looked wild.

"Thank you," you whisper, nerves now getting the better of you.

He grunts but doesn't move, eyes still staring at you and your fast shallow breaths.

There's a silence, you can hear blood rushing in your ears and the hollow echo of his breath in his broad chest, Muscles flexed beneath his tunic.

"I'll take my coin now," the rough voice penetrated the atmosphere. You scramble to your feet, and over to the pile of clothes. Untying the purse from its belt and opened it, counting out 10 coins.

He comes over and you empty your hand into his, the delicate jingle of coins resounded through the bare room. "Witcher..." You whisper as he rolls back on his feet, he doesn't look at you.

"Stay..."

He walks to his belongings and places the coins in his own purse. The flame of the candle spluttered, flickering in the growing pile of wet wax. It hadn't long left.

He lowered his head, twisting his head to the side and looked at you.

"The least they could have done was give us a bed," was his comment.

You sigh, releasing the tension in your shoulders.

"I don't usually get them, not out here anyway..." You trail off as he takes off his shirt and kicks his boots off.

Your fingers lift to the bandage, fingering the layers that held you tightly, admiring the build of this Witcher, of Geralt. Shining white scars sliced through his equally pale skin, some were purple, but they only accentuated the mounds of his muscles that bulged on his torso. His lips curled up, he was watching you.

You felt yourself flush, a tingle fired through you and you coughed. "Show off." A mischievous glint filled his eyes and he turned fully towards you, stepping over. He loomed over you, his golden yellow eyes poured into yours, his hands brushed over your bandage again but continued down to your waist. The trail left behind was tingling, you daren't move. He leaned closer to you and a raspy, grating whisper fell from his lips that were inches from yours, "Shall we?"

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


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